


A New Sunrise

by DelinquentWrites



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, Families of Choice, Fix-It, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Missing Scenes, Multiple Pairings, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, POV Third Person, Plothole Fill, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Fix-It, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 00:33:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8689657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelinquentWrites/pseuds/DelinquentWrites
Summary: He's lost so much blood.
 Clarke’s vision becomes hazy and the sound of the surrounding chaos is drowned out by the fear that washes over her like a bucket of ice water as the realization hits her; Wells is going to die.After a year of cold silence and unjust loathing. Before she has the chance to make things right.Clarke can't stop the tremors that rattle her body. “I’m going to lose him,” she whispers.Suddenly a broad chest is crowding her face and strong hands are gripping her shoulders, “Clarke! Look at me!”Clarke blinks back the tears that are threatening to spill over as she brings her focus to Bellamy’s eyes. “Clarke, you won't lose him if we act fast!"The convulsions slow down, then finally stop. Wells is passed out once again.“I need you to focus!," Bellamy continues, Wells needs you to focus!”At the sound of Wells’ name, Clarke is brought back. She steadies her breaths and focuses on Bellamy’s eyes as he pleads, “I’ll help you, Clarke, but you need to tell me what to do.”———————————————-Canon divergence of the show with the fixated point being Wells Jaha’s survival.





	

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a very strong love/hate relationship with this show. I personally feel that a lot of decisions that were made throughout to thicken the plot took away from character development, so I decided to start the story from where Wells was killed off and fulfill missed opportunities.
> 
> This is my first fic ever, so I'm not exactly sure how far I plan to take this, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

By all accounts, Clarke _should_ be sleeping soundly.

It’d been a few hours since she’d administered the seaweed tea to Jasper and his fever had broken. Besides losing Atom, the rest of the camp were fine except for a few minor burns that some of the kids acquired before finding shelter from the acid fog. 

Instead of sleeping, however, she continues to toss and turn on her makeshift cot on the second level of the drop ship; unable to stop thinking about her last conversation with Wells. About how she'd been so cold towards him, cruel even, for over a year. 

And her mother. Oh god, _her mom…_

Her mom let her believe it was Wells the entire time. While Wells selfishly took the blame to protect her, Abby let him take the fall in order to protect _herself._

Clarke swallows back the bile that rises in the back of her throat and takes deep breaths, forcing herself to suppress that train of thought. She can't deal with that information yet.

What matters now is that Wells is here, and that she still has a chance to make up for how she treated him in the past, so that's what she's going to do.

With that thought, Clarke stands and makes her way over to Jasper in a huff. Earlier that night, Clarke decided to stay near Jasper so that she could be ready to handle anything that might go wrong in his sleep. Since sleep isn't an option, she might as well be productive and check on him. At least it’ll give her something else to think about.

First Clarke feels his forehead. No fever, as it should be. Although, he feels a bit too cold. Clarke walks back to grab grab the blanket from her cot and arranges it over his sleeping form. Satisfied, she then turns his hand over and adjusts her fingers so that they're pressing into his wrist. As soon as she finds his pulse, she looks at her father’s watch to keep count of the beats. Nothing abnormal.

That's when she hears the clang of footsteps against metal the ladder of the dropship, heading toward the second level. 

After a second she recognizes a mop of dark curls and broad shoulders. Bellamy.

She turns her eyes back to Jasper, not knowing what else to do.

In Clarke’s peripheral, she notes a look of surprise flit across Bellamy’s features before settling back into his mask. “Hey,” Bellamy intones, “I didn't think you’d be awake.”

She didn't think he would actually address her, and she's not in the mood to deal with his antics; so Clarke whirls around to face him, already irritated by his presence. “What do you need?”

Her tone is sharp, which she instantly regrets at the sight of him. His head is hung low with his eyes on the ground, hands on his hips and his shoulders deflated. All traces of arrogance and bravado are gone.

Bellamy lifts his eyes to meet hers and starts, “I'm sorry if this is a bad time,” he begins to shift his body back towards the ladder, “I can leave if-”

“No, no,” she cuts him off hastily, her face growing hot in the wake of her shame, “it's fine. I'm sorry that I snapped at you,” she says, giving him an apologetic look. The lack of sleep and stress from discovering the truth about her mother, on top of racing against the clock to save Jasper, had taken its toll on her.

He nods in silent acceptance. There's a ghost of a smile on the corner of his lips before he replies, “I guess I just have that effect on you, don't I, Princess?”

Clarke rolls her eyes at the nickname and allows a soft smile before prompting, “Is there something you needed from up here?” She crosses her arms in anticipation while Bellamy looks past her to Jasper’s sleeping form, pensive.

After a beat he shifts his eyes to her face, “I just wanted to check on him," jerking is head in Jasper's direction, "how is he?" 

"He'll recover."

After a moment of awkward silence, Bellamy clears his throat, "Since we're both here, I want to apologize. For earlier today.”

 _Apologize? That's a first,_ Clarke thinks to herself. 

If Bellamy notices her shock, he doesn’t let on. He continues, “I was wrong. About Jasper.” After a pause he continues. “And you were right about-”

Before Bellamy can finish his apology, there’s a shout from below on the first level of the ship, “CLARKE! WHERE’S CLARKE?” 

Miller.

Clarke rushes to climb down the ladder and answers, “What’s-”

She stops dead in her tracks at the sight of Wells; his hand, missing two fingers, clutching his throat. Both wounds are bleeding profusely. “OH MY GOD! WELLS!”

She stammers hoarsely, “Miller, bandage off his two fingers, and make it tight. He can’t afford to lose any more blood.” She presses a clean cloth to his neck and to staunch the blood flow as much as possible.

Bellamy’s voice booms from behind her, “What the hell happened?”

Miller begins to explain breathlessly how Wells was attacked at his post, “Grounders, probably.”

Clarke frantically searches for a clear space to lie him down, “Bellamy,” she manages to choke out, “clear off that table!”

He’s there in a flash, gripping the edge of the metal table and dumping the objects from on top, “It's ready.”

Octavia already has the tin of needles and thread Clarke used to stitch Jasper’s wound.

Bellamy is suddenly at her side, his voice is soft, yet firm. “What else do you need, Clarke?” 

“I need boiled water and more rags.” He nods, before shouting orders at some of the other kids.

The blood is dark and already soaking through the rag on Wells’ neck, but not at a rate that would indicate that he was hit in the jugular. She lifts the cloth, affirming that the stab missed it narrowly, by a couple of millimeters. If she acts quickly enough, she can do this. She can save him. “Octavia, are those needles sterilized?”

“Here,” she responds as she hands one to Clarke, “this one is ready.” 

Clarke turns to her Octavia. “I need you to switch me, and put as much pressure on his wound as you can.” 

Octavia quickly grabs a new cloth and takes her place as Clarke begins to thread string through the needle and tie it off with trembling fingers and shaky breath. 

There’s too much commotion and the first level is packed with the bodies of grumbling teens that were startled from their sleep. “Everyone clear out! I need space.” Clarke’s command is meet with cold glares and it becomes clear no one can be bothered to move from their sleeping spaces.

Bellamy barks at the remaining teens. “Everyone, get up to the third level! If there isn't enough space, move to the tent I've ordered to have cleared out. Hurry up, let's get moving!”

Immediately the kids begin to pack up, some with eye rolls and exaggerated motions to show their annoyance, and others with panic in their eyes and they frantically gather their bedrolls. 

Clarke can’t blame them, Bellamy can be scary.

“Monty,” Clarke calls out, never breaking focus from her task. 

“I’m here!”

“How’s that boiled water coming?”

“It’s ready.”

“Is is cool enough to clean his wounds without burning him?”

“Yeah, I think so!”

“Good,” she sighs as she ties needle off. “Start pouring some over his fingers to wash out any dirt that could cause infection. Then bandage them.”

Clarke is startled to feel Wells suddenly grab hold of her sleeve with more force than she thought could possibly come from him. “Sh-shhhh,” he gurgles.

“Holy shit,” Octavia says breathlessly, expressing exactly what Clarke is thinking.

He was just stabbed in the neck and he’s trying to speak.

“Shhh-Sharloh,” he struggles out.

“Wells,” tears sting in the back of her eyes as she shakily clasps his uninjured hand. “You shouldn't try to talk right now,” she shushes him gently, “you can tell me when you're better. You're going to make it. _I promise.”_ She gives his hand an affirmative squeeze.

He squeezes back softly in answer before his eyes flutter shut from exhaustion. 

Good. It's best that he's not awake for what's to come.

“Should his hand still be bleeding this much?” Monty asks worriedly.

 _Shit._ "No, they're not. Just tie his fingers off again like Miller did the first time and bandage them to slow the blood loss. I’m gonna have to cauterize them.”

Monty looks sheepish. “I'm sorry, Clarke.”

Clarke realizes she probably sounded harsher than she intended, “It's not your fault, okay? You noticed there was a problem, you did _good."_

“I’ll be right here if you need anything else.”

She gives a soft, affirmative smile in return. She really does love that kid.

When Clarke's preparations are finished, she turns to Octavia. “Hey, Octavia, switch me again. I'm going to need you to stay Right here and hand me everything I need. Basically what you've been doing. I can’t leave his side.”

Octavia nods as she moves to let Clarke take over.

They trade places and Clarke gets to work cleaning the stab wound with the water as best as she can, then begins the stitching process.

Octavia asks, “You're not going to cauterize this one?”

“He's already close to going into shock. I don't want to risk cauterizing anything just yet. I’ll just have to stitch as best as I can and keep an eye on it for infection. I want to wait until his neck is stitched up before we have to cauterize his fingers.”

Which reminds her, “Hey, Monty?”

“I’m here.”

Wells grimaces in his sleep and his head jerks away from her when she tugs the first loop through his skin. It's obvious that he can feel the pinch of the needle and the burn of the thread. 

_Shit shit shit. He's going to wake up._

Wells jerks his head away again. Before Clarke can call for someone to hold him down, Bellamy is already there; holding each side of Wells’ face. “Mbege,” he hollers, “hold down his arms and pin down his upper body! You,” he nods his in Connor’s direction, “pin his lower body!”

Clarke has never been so grateful to have Bellamy around. She picks up her speed in attempt to get this task over with as fast as possible.

She continues addressing Monty. “You saw how I made the seaweed tea for Jasper, right?”

“I remember.”

“I need you to get to work on making more, so that it's ready when Wells and Jasper wake up.”

Monty nods, then looks to Finn for help. Finn follows Monty’s lead in silent assent and both of them immediately set to work.

After she finishes tying off the stitches on Wells’ neck, Clarke has Octavia make a bandage similar to the one on Jasper's chest.

 

“Now I need you to wrap more cloth around his neck to keep the bandage on tight, wind it diagonally from his neck to underneath his arm and back around his neck again if you can. But be careful to not cut off any air or blood flow,” she looks in Octavia’s direction, “can you do that?”

“I can do it.” Octavia nods. She immediately gets to work on tearing one long strip of cloth to make the bandage. 

Bellamy says nothing, but the look of pride in his eyes as he watches Octavia doesn't escape Clarke's notice.

When Octavia finishes, Clarke tells her that she can take a rest. “Check on Jasper for me, will you?” Octavia doesn't argue, a moment later she's disappears up the ladder to the second level.

“I need a lit torch,” Clarke calls out as she washes off her knife. Atom is out of the drop ship in an instant and back shortly, carrying in a torch from the camp perimeter. Clarke heats her knife in preparation to cauterize Wells’ hand.

To Clarke’s relief, his fingers were somehow miraculously cut off at the same length and cut pretty cleanly; she wouldn't have to smooth out his finger bones either, which is extremely lucky considering she doesn't have the tools to do that. It'll also make the cauterizing process that much easier to deal with; instead of having to cauterize one finger at a time, she can do both at once with the flat of her blade.

Clarke turns to Bellamy. “I need you to put something between his teeth to bite on,” gesturing to Wells, “And I’m going to need more people to hold him down for this.”

Bellamy obliges wordlessly, finding a cloth that he rolls up and wedges it between Wells’ teeth. More of Bellamy’s guys come along to hold his body down.

Monty removes the bandage and in a flash, Clarke presses the flat of her blade to the missing fingers.

Wells awakens with a scream. 

Clarke cries out, “I’m sorry! It's all over now!” She watches in alarm as Wells begins to seize. 

His skin is ice all over and his lips begin to turn blue. _“Shit! He’s going into hypovolemic shock!”_

Bellamy roars, “What the _hell_ does that mean, Clarke?”

Instead of answering she shouts at everyone pinning Well’s body. “Everyone, let him go! You could hurt him by holding him down!” Dread settles into her gut as she helplessly watches his body convulse, the breaths she takes to keep herself from vomiting rapidly turn into hyperventilation.

 _He's lost so much blood._

Clarke’s vision becomes hazy and the sound of the surrounding chaos is drowned out by the fear that washes over her like a bucket of ice water as the realization hits her; _Wells is going to die._

She’s going to lose him after a year of cold silence and unjust loathing, before she has the chance to make everything right. 

Clarke can't stop the tremors that rattle her body. “I’m going to lose him,” she whispers.

Suddenly a broad chest is crowding her face and strong hands are gripping her shoulders, _“Clarke! Look at me!”_

Clarke blinks back the tears that are threatening to spill over as she brings her gaze to Bellamy’s face. “Clarke, you won't lose him if we act fast!"

The convulsions slow down, then finally stop. Wells is passed out once again.

“I need you to focus!," Bellamy continues, _Wells_ needs you to focus!” 

At the sound of Wells’ name, Clarke is brought back. She steadies her breaths and focuses on Bellamy’s eyes as he pleads, “I’ll help you, Clarke, but you need to tell me what to do. You said he's in shock. How do we treat him?”

“He needs a transfusion,” Clarke's voice comes out hoarsely before she clears her throat and speaks up, “but he's AB negative and it's rare. None of the other hundred have that blood type, only AB negatives can donate to other AB negatives.”

“Then it's a good thing I'm one hundred and one. You're going to use my blood, I’m AB negative too.”

It takes a second for his words to sink in.

_There’s still time._

“There’s some tubing and plastic bags up on the second level that I can turn into an IV. Octavia knows what they look like.” Bellamy releases her shoulders to race to the ladder, calling for Octavia tonbring what Clarke needs

“Monty, I need you to bandage Wells’ fingers again, I can't sew them up until this transfusion is underway,” Clarke instructs.

Clarke rushes to Wells and checks his pulse and keeps count with her watch. His skin is ice cold and his heart rate is fast. Way too fast.

Octavia is back down the ladder with the plastic bags and tubing in her arms, “I have them!”

Clarke calls for Miller.

“I’m here!”

“Take someone with you to get two buckets full of water from the river. It's the coldest water we’re going to get.”

“Sit here,” Clarke gestures for Bellamy to take a seat near the table Wells is occupying. “After this you're going to be weak. I need a lot of blood because you're the only donor. You’ll need to eat and rest for a couple of days.” 

“You got it doc,” he deadpans. His oddly timed humor has an instant calming effect on her, strange as it is.

“I need you to clench your fist,” she instructs Bellamy. “Good, just like that.” Then she ties his arm off before stopping to attach the tubing to a plastic bag. Then she attaches the other end to the needle. Luckily Clarke is able to locate a vein in Bellamy's arm without much effort. 

After a few seconds of letting gravity do it’s work, the bag begins to fill.

When the bag is filled after another minute of agony, she pinches off the tubing at the end that’s in the blood bag. “Octavia, hold this end of the tube the way I'm holding it.”

After handing the other half of the tube to Octavia she ties off the her improvised IV bag and finds a vein in Wells’ arm. His heart rate is still working too fast, desperately trying to pump fluid that isn't there.

After finding a way to hang the bag, the red inches it’s way through the tube and then disappears into Wells’ arm. 

She can finally breathe again.

Taking back the tube from Octavia, Clarke releases Bellamy’s blood flow into new bag to let it fill. There's been enough time wasted already.

When Miller returns with the buckets, Clarke ties off the second bag of blood and places it in the icy water to preserve it. She repeats the process two more times. 

Clarke has Octavia remove the needle from Bellamy's arm, "it's important to pull the needle out at the same angle you saw me insert it. And Bellamy, bend your arm to keep the pressure on your bandage. Make sure to eat.”

Bellamy takes the opportunity to call Miller over. “I want you and Jason to go around camp and do a headcount. Make sure no one is missing. And I want to know about any more attacks.”

As the IV does its work, Clarke focuses on stitching up what remains of Wells’ fingers then bandages them. He doesn't stir even once.

After a while of waiting and the drop ship settles into a calm, Clarke makes her way over to Bellamy after switching Wells to the third IV bag.

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” he sighs, “weak.”

After a beat, Clarke clears her throat and utters, “Thank you.”

When Bellamy meets her eyes, he only nods in acknowledgement.

Not good enough. “Why did you do it?”

Bellamy's eyebrows furrow as he processes her question. “Why did I help you save him?”

“Yes.”

He tilts his head back against the wall and stares at the ceiling a bit before finally answering, “I didn't get to finish telling you what I was going to say earlier.”

Now it's Clarke's brows that furrow in confusion. What does that have to do with what she's asking now?

Bellamy starts again. “After we lost Atom last night, what you said yesterday morning got to me.” He finally turns his gaze back to her face. “You were right. Down here, every life matters. We’re all that we have now, and if we’re going to stand any chance against what’s out _there,_ we can't afford to lose anyone else...even if I don't like the guy,” he finishes before looking away again.

Just as Clarke begins to comprehend the small, yet significant, change in Bellamy Blake’s philosophy, Miller is back with news.

By the look of his expression and the pallor of his skin, the news isn't good.

“What's wrong, Miller?” Bellamy prompts.

“I did the headcount you asked me to do,” he says breathlessly. “That little girl, we can't find her.”

Clarke and Bellamy meet eyes, and a mutual feeling of dread creeps over them.

Clarke asks, “Who is it?”

“It's Charlotte, no one has seen her since yesterday.”

Bellamy leaps to his feet. “Get search parties organized, we’re going after her!”

Charlotte.

The memory of Wells grabbing her sleeve on the operating table suddenly flashes in her mind. Clarke shrieks, “Bellamy!”

He's suddenly crowding her space and growls, “What is it?” She knows what he's thinking, there's a challenge that glows behind his eyes in a silent dare to tell him to stay in camp after giving up so much blood.

Clarke holds up her hands in a placating gesture, “I'm not going to tell you to stay, but I need you to listen to me. Wells was trying to tell me something when he was first brought in after he was attacked by grounders. Bellamy-” she swallows, “I realized what he was trying to tell me. He said _Charlotte._ He was the last person to see her...I think she was taken.”

Bellamy’s face deepens into a scowl before turning on his heel and storming out of the drop ship. 

There’s going to be hell to pay.

* * *

Clarke makes her way up to the second level to give Jasper his first dose of seaweed tea for the day. When she’s finished, she returns to the first level and makes her way over to Wells’ sleeping form to changes his dressings. She's relieved to see there are no signs of infection. At least, not yet.

She takes a moment to memorize Wells’ face, and she takes his bandaged hand into her own, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest in silent thanks. 

The morning sun filters through the parachute flap covering the doorway to the drop ship, casting a soft red hue over the first level. Standing up, she steps through the flap and out into the frosty morning air. Clarke’s breath is visible, but the soft rays of the rising sun are warm on her face. 

Clarke takes this moment to take everything in. Her revelation from yesterday morning rings truer now more than ever. After Wells spent a year selflessly protecting her, she’s going to pay him back and protect him. She's not wasting this new chance she's been given.

She nearly lost Wells last night, but he's alive. He's still here.

He's made it to another sunrise.

* * *

It's well into the day when Finn returns to camp.

Clarke is taking inventory of supplies in the drop ship with Wells in her line of sight.

Finn strides through the doorway with his signature boyish charm that sometimes makes her stomach flip. However, she isn't in the mood today. There's a child missing and he doesn't seem to grasp the gravity of the situation. Today, his easy going manner is fucking irritating.

He gives her an easy smile. “Afternoon, Clarke.”

Clarke grumbles. “Aren't you supposed to be out with the search party?”

“They're heading back this way now. But I took a little detour.”

Before she can snap at him for never taking anything seriously he whips a out pencil. Clarke’s eyes widen in shock and she automatically reaches to to take it from his hand in spite of herself. “Where did you _get_ this?” It's an honest to god, _real,_ pencil.

“The art supply store,” he smirks. Smartass.

Her gaze drifts over to Wells and the novelty of the gift wears off.

Finn raises his eyebrows in question. “What's wrong? I thought you’d like it.”

Clarke’s look back to the pencil in her hand. “It just reminded me of when Wells and I were little. He was always giving me charcoal, pens, anything I could draw with really. I found out later that he was giving away his own stuff to give them to me. He didn't want me to know that either.”

“So what’s wrong?

Blood creeps into Clarke's face, making it hot with abrupt anger. She hates Abby. Wells has been taking care of her for as long as she can remember and this is how her mother treats him? By letting him take the blame for her father’s _murder?_

Fuck Abby.

She's already halfway up the ladder to the second level when she hears Finn call up. “What are you doing, Clarke?” 

She shuts the hatch, startling Monty but he makes a quick recovery. “Oh hey, Clarke.”

“Do you think you can remove my wristband and reverse it for communication to the ark?”

Monty’s eyes widen in surprise. “Sure. But do you really want to do that?”

“Let's do it.”

* * *

Clarke's wrist is a bit sore and clammy, but it feels _free._

She'd float herself before ever admitting that out loud, lest Bellamy hears about it.

She enters Octavia’s tent to find Bellamy already waiting inside.

 _Speak of the devil and he doth appears._ She thinks to herself bitterly. “I was looking for Octavia, but i’ll just come back later,” she says as she hurriedly turns to leave, hoping Bellamy won’t notice her missing wristband.

She feels his firm hand catch her elbow and stops her in her tracks. He sneers, “What happened to your wristband, Princess?”

Well there goes _that_ plan.

So it's back to this. The mutual respect she thought they had was just a pipe dream.

In spite of wanting to punish her mother, Clarke also wanted their people to come down. Bellamy has another agenda. And she was dumb enough to believe for a moment that things could be any different.

“What about it?” she snaps.

“I thought you said you'd die before taking it off,” his dark eyes search her own for ulterior motives, “what changed?”

Two could play this game. After all, the best lies are sprinkled with truth. “I want my mom to think I'm dead.”

He crosses his arms and clenches his jaw in typical Bellamy fashion, obviously not buying it.

Clarke cocks an eyebrow. “Fine. She turned my dad in when he discovered the flaw in the oxygen system and tried to go public a year ago.” At that, he's visibly taken aback. She can almost see the gears turning and decides to jump on his confusion. “She let Wells take the blame for it and let me hate him to cover her own ass. So now that you know _my_ personal business, why don't you braid my hair and tell me _your_ life story, Bellamy?”

His eyes soften in the face of her rage and there's an actual trace of empathy behind them. 

That's unexpected.

Clarke doesn't like to manipulate people. And she hates having to tell such a personal part of her life to Bellamy Blake in order to sell this half truth, but it’s necessary. It's also oddly comforting to see there's a part of him that's capable of being sympathetic towards her.

That’s when Octavia and Jasper stumble into the tent and Bellamy takes two rapid steps back, making Clarke realize just how close they were a moment before, making her face flush and look away quickly. 

_What the hell was that?_

Octavia places a bunched up cloth on the table in the tent. “You’ll want to see this.”

* * *

_Fucking John Murphy. She should have known._

No logic. No rational thought. Nothing but red.

“YOU STUPID SON OF A BITCH!” Clarke shoves Murphy as hard as she can. “Recognize this,” she spits at Murphy, holding up his knife for everyone to see.

Other campers stop what they're doing and are now absorbed in the scene playing before them.

Murphy reaches for the knife. “Hey I've been looking for that, where’d you find it?”

Clarke shoves his hand away, “By Wells’ missing fingers, you prick! Where you tried to murder him!”

Murphy’s faces twists in bewilderment and disgust. _“Where I what?”_

Now a crowd has formed.

“And where's Charlotte, huh? Was she in the wrong place at the wrong time? Saw too much? WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?” She shoves Murphy again and this time Octavia and Finn are there to hold her back.

“You tried to kill Wells,” she screams, "and you’ve tried to kill him before! We all saw you! You _hated Wells_ ”

 _"Plenty,_ of people hated Wells!”

Octavia pipes up. “He tried to kill Jasper too!”

Murphy’s eyes fix on Bellamy, _“You really believe this shit?”_

“They found his missing fingers by _your knife,”_ he reasons.

Clarke is overwhelmed by her desire for justice. “Is this the kind of society we want? Where we can just _kill_ people without any punishment?”

A voice calls out from the crowd. “I say we float him!”

Clarke's heart stops. “That's not what I'm saying-” she back pedals.

Connor shouts indignantly. “Why not? _It's justice!”_

The crowd begins to chant. _“Float him! Float him! Float him! Float him!”_

Chaos ensues.

The next thing she knows, Murphy is dangling from his neck with tear streaks down his grimy and bloodied face. 

“This is on you, Princess,” Bellamy roars, “You should have kept your mouth shut!”

Seconds tick by and Murphy’s life is being strangled away, the light in his eyes beginning to fade.

Bellamy's eyes widen at something behind Clarke as someone stumbles into her back.

Wells.

“IT WASN’T MURPHY,” he shouts, causing the crowd to still, “IT WAS CHARLOTTE! CUT HIM DOWN!”

_Oh my god._

Clarke reaches for the hatchet in Bellamy's belt and hacks the rope that has Murphy strung up, causing his body to free fall. 

Of two things Clarke is certain: one, Murphy is still breathing. 

And two: _this is all her fault._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any medical inaccuracies in this chapter, I researched quite a bit and did my best to make it as accurate as possible. All mistakes regarding the procedures are mine.
> 
> Big thank you to my beta @wellsjahasghost for helping me correct all of my sad grammatical errors, for always humoring my wild ideas that will probably never be written, and for always encouraging me to write. So much love for you!


End file.
